


Like A Rock (That Chooses Scissors)

by jessie_pie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:37:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessie_pie/pseuds/jessie_pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a reason for Dean’s sucky Rock-Paper-Scissors strategy...  Set in Season Four.<br/>(Contains references to death.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Rock (That Chooses Scissors)

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who is a repeat reader and has come back looking for more (Thank you for all your kudos, CorvusTheFeatherbrain!), It's been a long time since I posted, and I wish I'd gotten chances to sooner. My life has been pretty crazy lately. I've heard a lot of fanfic authors say that, and I've always believed them. Please extend me that courtesy too.  
> On the plus side, I have quite a few short fics written and ready to post or nearly so, and there are lots of other projects in the works. Now that things have settled down you should be able to see them soon!  
> Thanks for reading, and as always, thank you to Osito for beta-ing, and Supernatural does not belong to me.

There were constants even in a Winchester life: the sun comes up in the east, salt hurts ghosts, and Dean always chooses scissors.  
Sam couldn’t have been much older than four or five when it started. Dean had taught him how to play Rock Paper Scissors so he would have something to do on long car trips besides fidget and pester John with repetitive questions. Sammy liked to win, so Dean always picked scissors.  
Around ten years later, the boys began helping John hunt. He never took them on big jobs and always did the most dangerous parts, but Sam knew they were being trained and hated every minute of it. Dean usually seemed to eat it up.  
But tonight, John was halfway across town fighting the monster and his sons were standing at the edge of an open storm sewer grate, trying to decide which of them should go down to try to find the missing girl or, more likely, her remains. Dean looked, for once, about as enthusiastic as Sam usually felt.  
“Rock, paper, scissors?”Dean asked. Sam nodded, not wanting to open his mouth. Dean chose scissors and descended, grumbling, into the narrow, dripping tunnels, while Sam stayed on the surface, keeping a watch that turned out to be unnecessary and trying not to listen to that niggling little voice that said he should have gone with paper.  
After Stanford, when Sam started hunting again, Dean would pretend not to notice when his brother gagged on the stench of death or looked away from a body, but whenever they had to confront a particularly gruesome scene, he would hold out his hand and ask: “Who gets to go in? Rock, paper, scissors?”  
Even now, when Sam’s eyes were always hard and he seemed less bothered by death than his brother, Dean remembered the innocent little boy who had been his brother. He remembered, so he asked. And Dean always chose scissors.


End file.
